My Story

I am running the London Marathon for my Dad, for my friend Toni, and for anyone who knows all consuming grief, the kind that robs you of imagined futures and has made life forever that little bit worse. 

My chosen charity is Experience Camps, an American charity that funds week-long residential summer camps for children who have lost a parent, primary caregiver, or sibling. 

Their mission: to give grieving children a space to reclaim the joy of childhood and a community of people who understand the pain of significant loss.

Through a combination of typical camp activities, and specialist-led clinical sessions, the campers will learn strategies for navigating their grief, because every child deserves to live a life rich with possibility. 

I’ll be volunteering as a counsellor (in the American, not medical sense!) for the Maryland camp this summer. My Dad was a keen scout, loved camping, I know he'd be so excited for me to have this opportunity!

At Experience Camps, the kids are asked about ‘their person’, this being their lost loved ones. My people are my Dad, David, and one of my best friends, Toni. 

2023 was the worst year of my life. In May my Dad died in a tragic accident in our family home. At the time I was 21, and could not fathom life without my biggest cheerleader.

He was an absolute light who loved his family fiercely, he held his emotions close to the surface, and was always the first to cry at a TV charity appeal. His bear hugs could fix everything. I once travelled home from university when I was having a tough time, just because I needed a hug from Dad. 

Life is heavy without him, I’m not the same person I was when he was alive, grief will do that to a person. Losing a parent at a young age robs you of your innocence, your naive assumption that of course your parents will be around for your wedding, to meet your kids, to see your first house.

I mourn the radiant person that he was, and I mourn for the me whose identity and feeling of safety was so reliant on his support and guidance. 

In October of the same year, Toni died. She was a beautiful, strong and intellectual woman who I had met on the first day of school at 11-years-old. Toni appreciated art and culture on another level, but it never made her stuffy – even when I would whinge about modern art being scribbles. 

She was incredibly gifted, in her warm soul and wisdom well beyond her years, and I was gifted to know her. We bonded over our love for One Direction, when we’d fight over who could ‘have’ Harry Styles, and we grew together, she protected her loved ones fiercly, and stood by me as I suffered the loss of my Dad, I had so much respect, care and love for her and I wish I could tell her. 

With both losses, I thought I’d have more time. Dad and Toni both lived life so largely and loudly, and we should have had more. 

In 1,000 lifetimes, my Dad would never have run a marathon, in fact he called me crazy for entering the ballot in 2023.

If you know all-consuming grief, you know how it’s that little bit harder to get out of bed each day. For me, marathon training has been a goal, something to force me up. I have to keep going, and I will keep going for a whole 26.2 miles (eek). 

For the kids at Experience Camp, who know this pain all too well, and for anyone who holds loss in their heart.